A Version of Me

Sometimes I wake up in the morning half alive half dead and wonder whether there’s any reason to get up at all.
Sometimes I realize I don’t like me a whole lot but that’s okay I’ll just create a new me starting now.
Yesterday I realized my narrative voice is terribly unnaturally inauthentically me.
Yes, yes there are a lot of things to correct.

Most days I spend at least 15 minutes wondering just what the hell it is I’m doing.
In summer I usually seize up in terror once a day wondering if this is the day my hair melts into the top of my head like some greasy cake decoration.
(Black things conduct heat)!

Sometimes I think my love of sci-f has taught me to be good at sex.
No seriously because I can suspend my disbelief and focus and not get hung up wondering how on earth I got myself into this situation in the first place.
Otherwise how would anything get done?

In certain specific conditions I will lose my appetite entirely for three days and not really know why.
Then my hunger will return at 3.22am in a rush like copulating teenagers.
And then what do you do?
Somebody tell me seriously I don’t know. Can you justify getting something to eat at that time?

Some part of me still wants to be used and abused by awful sorts because let’s face it doing the wrong thing can be fun sometimes.
Even if it ends up feeling like tearing the muscle clean off the bone.
No no wait no it’s more like that disappointment feeling.
Like that moment of quiet ‘oh.’ when the house lights go up at the end of night/start of day.

Sometimes I like to go swimming in the mornings even though I’m half a chance to drown myself.
Me in the water is like a fish trying to swim through chocolate syrup.
But that won’t stop me I’m stubborn like that plus I love that aquamarine colour of water in a synthetic body.

Somewhere I read that the smell / look of violets evokes memories of the dead and dead romance.
This interested me enough to write it down in my notes but how can I use it?
I don’t know anything about flowers.

Passenger

Today I’m not the driver
someone else is in control
but from him or her I’m totally
divorced.

I’m not sure that I trust the
person sitting at the wheel
because they’re always trying to make
a stop.

I hope they know the way to
go I’d help them if I could
but it’s difficult because I’m
half-asleep.

Little Tree

Here I have a little tree. It wants so much to grow.
It needs a lot to nurture it, but what I do not know.

I don’t know how to care for it, to get the balance right.
Frequently that keeps me up with worry through the night.

There is no other like it though that you won’t believe.
Secretly I’m worried that it’s losing all its leaves.

The little tree is stunted, sickly, colour drained to mauve.
It has no place to plant its roots, no sanctuary grove.

But still the tree it struggles on, it knows no other way.
Apparently it’s meant to keep on living day by day.

Sometimes I even prune the tree, to keep it safe and small.
I wish I could protect it, hide it, block it with a wall.

A person tried to strangle it, to wring its life away.
I didn’t get his license plate. It ended in a K.

It seems there’s always someone trying to hurt my little tree.
But half the time I tend to think the hurtful one is me.

Of late I have been wondering how long my tree can last.
Any way you look at it, 8 months won’t go by fast.

But if my tree can last that long it all might be okay.
Apparently I have to keep on living day to day.